


Primary Plummet

by Elekrii



Series: First Draft No-Edit PIKFICS [2]
Category: Pikmin (Video Game)
Genre: Olimar dies, Oneshot, Or does he, PIKMIN 1 SPOILERS, Panic, Pikmin 1, Pikmin Olimar, Stream of Consciousness, The Pikmin are a mild hivemind, first fic, possibly tbc, relatively short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elekrii/pseuds/Elekrii
Summary: SPOILERS FOR PIKMIN 1------"Hurtling towards demise—Is this how the Pikmin feel? A sense of determination and courage, hissing over the bilious stab of uncertainty as they find their predators. They triumph over fate with self-made luck, and friends, and, more likely, family.I understand."------What thoughts go through Olimar's head when his ship fails to bring him home?
Series: First Draft No-Edit PIKFICS [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941976
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	Primary Plummet

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! First fic. This started out as a drabble in my phone's notes, just steady thought-flowiness while I waited on my yucky PopTarts to finish toasting. I was trying to nail a bit of edgy Olimar for this gag Twitter account that I'm running. I haven't gone back to edit it, save for a confusing pronoun and a nip of clarity, but I'm a bit happy with it. I'm also a bit sad about the lack of non-crossover Pikmin fic. If you guys have any criticism, constructive or otherwise, or if you want me to continue with this and turn it into more than a tiny oneshot, tell me! I'll be happy to figure out what to do with it. I also have zero clue how to format or properly indent, so I'll figure that out. . .
> 
> To be read in a panicked, blurry tone--In case that wasn't already quite clear, what with all the ship-crashing going on.

Hurtling towards demise—Is this how the Pikmin feel? A sense of determination and courage, hissing over the bilious stab of uncertainty as they find their predators. They triumph over fate with self-made luck, and friends, and, more likely, _family_. I understand. It’s the same feeling that has bloomed within me, throughout the past thirty days.

My courage has not led to my luck. My success. My home. Not where my wife and children are. Not my job’s business building. Not my terrible boss, and my romping dog, and my quaint little home that stands in the middle of a bland stone wasteland. 

It has led me back to the ground. An unknown ground, that beckons like a bit of glinting silver. I am the fish. And what a right comparison, as I struggle to catch my breath in open air! My beloved ship shudders and groans, spitting out what little parts I’d recollected over the month. None hit my head. I am graced with the opportunity to see my own death, and I face it with nothing more than a silent scream. I waited for this day with a terror. A resolute spark of bravery brought me to peace with it, but no longer is it there. There is nothing peaceful about falling to my death—Not when my chest hides behind my stomach. My eyes burn, and I don’t know whether it’s the heat of snapped circuitry, the wind, or my own body. Everything is as red as my blood, as red as the sweet pies my dear mother would make, as the waxy skin of the dangerous beasts I’d only just come to know. 

_And then it is done_. I do not hear myself shatter into a million pieces. A white-yellow flash, like lightning and spring grass and lemon-colored bottlecaps. Pain that _screams_ , but just for the slowest half-second to grace my life. Was it my neck? My head? My helmet didn’t have a chance to stop the fall, no matter how tempered the glass. . .

Why do I think? I see nothing but a warm light, glittering and heaving. Am I poring over my life? Is this how it flashes? Is this the tunnel? It’s pulling me up—No, no, it’s spitting me out! I’m _sorry_ , I’m sorry! I loved my family, I was good to them, I didn’t want to leave! I’m plummeting again—Is this Hell? _To relive death_ -

And then I stop. I struggle to breathe in soil and dust, dry. Lonesome, save for the patter of small feet, and I wish to escape it. I do not feel my body. I cannot _think_. Warm. Cordial. Excitement. I’m rewiring. These are not my thoughts—They are ours. I flick my leaf and hum with the crowd, because we are happy for the life that I have lived—Or is it for the one that is new? The sky is blue. So blue. More blue than all the clean waters. Deep blue, vast, wild, tempting, yet so very cruel. I realize that I fear it, now.

They wrestle to pull me from the earth with gentle, tiny hands, like my. . .My. . . Like a child. . .with their first harvest of some crop. . .Oh, I do not remember! I have no time for comparisons. No time for remembering! I feel pride, though distant, as the earth breaks away before my eyes. It is bright again, in so many different colors.

My family surrounds me. Red, yellow, and blue.

I _am_ home.


End file.
